How to Outswim a Shark Without a Snorkel (9 page)

“I can help you, you know,” Ashley said. She blinked at me expectantly.

“What do you mean? Help me with an outfit?” I couldn't stop my voice from squeaking like a mouse.

“Obviously.”

“I think I'm good,” I said. I had no idea what she had in mind, but Ashley's help wasn't something I was eager to beg for. Although she did have great style. But still. Had to be a trap. This wasn't hanging out at the zoo together. Shopping would mean the mall.
Her
territory. At least here I was surrounded by sharks and crocodiles and other creatures that could keep me safe. Once I learned to control them like an army, that is.

Ugh, I'm turning into Daz.

“Oh, come on,” she said, glaring at me. “Let me help already. We can go shopping at the mall and get new suits. I haven't gone shopping in weeks,” she whined.

I stiffened. This had to be some sort of joke. Some evil plot to get me in a dressing room so she could grab all my clothes and leave me in the dust, wandering naked through the mall. Can you imagine
that
headline?

“Shopping?” I asked. “Together?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

Now it was my turn to give her a look. Because you've hated me since first grade. Because you make my life a living hell. Because you volunteered to work in the zoo simply because you enjoy
torturing
me.

But I didn't say any of that.

Because I wasn't
sure
of any of it. At least, the last bit.

“Oh come on, Ana,” she said. “I know we've been jerks to each other, but maybe we can just…drop it for the summer. You know?”

Jerks to each
other
? Since when was I jerky to
her
?

She clucked her tongue when she saw the question in my eyes. “There's no reason why we can't help each other out.”

There was the catch.

“What do you need help with?”

She batted her best doe eyes. But underneath, her face was hard, like she was trying to look strong. “I'm nervous for the presentation,” she said finally. “I just want a chance to practice for someone, and Patricia is too busy, and my sister is always at the gym for swim trials.” She shrugged. “And you're here.”

I hesitated.

“And you already know what I have to say, so you can actually be
helpful
. You know?” She tapped her foot. “We can make those memorization notes together for me to use.”

The walls began to feel tight around me. I guess it
sort
of
made sense for us to help each other out. Or did it? I tried to imagine telling Bella or Liv about going shopping with Ashley. That would be like telling them I'd suddenly taken up Latin for the fun of it. Since when did being almost thirteen come with so many tough decisions? But Ashley wasn't acting like any of this was tough. She was confident and acting like this was no big deal.

But was that part of her trick?

“I'll have to think about it,” I said. I hated myself for being so wishy-washy. I wanted to
know
for sure what I wanted to do, instead of feeling like one giant question mark. But this felt too weird to be true.

Ashley nodded. “'Kay, give me a call tonight if you want to go. We can meet tomorrow afternoon. That will give us almost a week to get our outfits ready for next
Saturdayyyy
,” she said in a singsong voice. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a teeny pink notecard with a kitten on it, with her telephone number written in calligraphy. See what I mean? Ashley had a
card
like a businesswoman.

I took it from her and stuffed it into my pocket. “All right. I'll let you know.” I gathered my books and left as quickly as I could without looking like a total freak.

I had some thinking to do.

Giant cuttlefish have green blood.

—Animal Wisdom

In the safety of my own room, nestled next to the hippos and away from Ashley's eagle eyes, I pulled out my Anti-Ashley notebook.
Technically
, her asking me to go shopping wasn't a mean thing. But it was
about
her, so I still counted it as an Ashleyism for the notebook.

“Okay, Darwin,” I said, poking him in his feathery shoulder with the pen cap. “You need to help me here.”

He stared at me with his dark, beady eyes and scratched at his cheek lazily with one long claw. Darwin was always a bit of a slacker when you needed help. Not like the
real
Darwin, I bet. He looks super helpful in a nice-old-man kind of way.

I started a new page and wrote in my big, bubble letters.

To Go or Not to Go: The Pros and Cons of Shopping with Ashley

“Well?” I tapped my pen against my chin. “Let's hear it. Something
good
about shopping with Ashley.”

Darwin blinked.

“Useless bird,” I mumbled. “Okay. How about this?” I started to write.

Pro: I desperately need a new swimsuit. My navy blue one is too small, and it rides up my butt and digs into my shoulders like nobody's business. The last thing I need is someone snapping a picture of me in that monstrosity and plastering my wedgie in all its glory over the Internet.

I frowned to myself, as Darwin skittered around my desk and bobbed in front of my mirror. He ducked his head, preening his shoulder with his beak and cooing at his own reflection. What a complete diva.

“You're right,” I said. “She's totally vain. So she'd probably make shopping all about her, and I'd be stuck watching her do her runway walk in great outfits the whole time without actually getting any help.” I wrote that in the cons list.

“But on the other hand,” I said, my hand poised over the paper. “If she
does
help me, the fact that she's vain could be a good thing. I could use someone who actually knows
how
to look good and buy the right clothes, you know? She always looks awesome, and it would be a huge pro if she could help me look even remotely hot.”

Darwin didn't look convinced.

“Trust me,” I added, filling in more of the pros column. “It is crazy hard to look good in a swimsuit. I need all the help I can get.”

Darwin whistled and gawked at me. Clearly he agreed.

“But!” I shouted suddenly, startling him. “The whole thing could be a trap!” I scribbled some more, rambling. “I mean, if she wanted to go shopping, why wouldn't she go with Rayna or Brooke, or even her mom? Why would she ask me? That probably means it's definitely a trap and her
only
goal here is to get me in some awful position with some super-sketchy swimsuit of horror so she can post it online for the whole world to see.”

I puckered my lips in contemplation. Darwin cocked his head, bobbing excitedly. He started making shrill kissy noises, peppered with the flirty whistles.

“Ugh, that's right.” I agreed. The realization hit me like a rhino stampede. “The kiss pact.” I wrote in the pros column. “Getting Ashley's help with looking good would definitely help out with Kevin. I don't have much time left!” I glanced to my desk calendar. The summer had practically just started, but it felt like school would be here faster than Daz could eat a bag of Cheetos. Time was already running out.

I
had
to get Kevin to kiss me. There was no way Liv would
ever
let me hear the end of it if I failed. And as much as I hated to admit it, Ashley was pretty much the only girl I knew (who wasn't, like, my mom) that I could ask for help with kissing tips.

“I'm pretty sure that counts as more than one pro,” I explained, underlining it a few times.

Staring at my list, I knew what I had to do.

Already I felt like I was going to throw up. The last time I'd felt so nervous about something was right before I did my big crocodile presentation when school ended. I had
really
wanted to see if I could do it, but part of me felt too paralyzed to move.

This was exactly the same, only instead of wanting to present in front of people, I wanted to see if I was brave enough to face Ashley, who was even
scarier
than crocodiles.

I looked past my computer at the photo on my desk that Grandpa had given me from my presentation. My own face stared back at me, beaming with pride in front of the big crowd of people.

I had been so scared, just a few minutes earlier. Would facing a shopping trip with Ashley turn out the same way? Maybe something good
could
come from it?

There was only one way to find out.

I picked up my phone and dug out the pink card from my pocket. The tiny kitten face stared back at me, daring me to chicken out.
You're not afraid of a teensy kitten, are you?
it seemed to say.

I dialed the number with shaky fingers. Ashley answered.

“Hi, Ashley,” I forced myself to speak normally, instead of sounding like I was squeezed tight by a boa constrictor of nerves.

“Hey, Ana,” she said. She still sounded like it was no biggie that I was calling her.

I took a huge breath. What I was about to say seemed impossible, but I guess the deal with impossible things is that they only seem impossible
before
you do them. The words found their way out.

“About tomorrow,” I said. “I'm in.” My pulse quickened. Would she laugh now like it was all a mean joke?

“Cool,” she said. “Meet you in the food court around three?”

“Okay,” I said. “See you then.”

And that was it.

My first official phone conversation with Ashley had lasted about fifteen seconds, but it felt like a zillion years. Suddenly I was exhausted and collapsed onto my bed to recover. A summer nap sounded like heaven now.

Too bad Daz has a sensor that tells him the very
second
I'm trying to relax.

“Hey, loser!” he bellowed, bulldozing into my room.

I moaned, pulling the pillow over my head. “Not now, Daz. I've had a weird day.”

If only boys knew about how rough it was to be a girl some days. All this swimsuit shopping and shark touching and fifteen-second nerve-racking phone calls that threatened to give you heart attacks.

Guys have it so easy.

“
Pfft.
You think
you've
had a weird day?” He shoved me over and sprawled on my bed. “I spent all afternoon running away from supermodels,” he babbled. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk around with this face?”

You know what the funniest thing about living in a zoo is?

How I didn't even realize I was
already
in one before we moved here.

Things That I Thought Would Be Super Cool about Growing Up That Are Turning Out to Suck—Volume 1:

1. The word
prepubescent
. Let's add the word
‘puberty
' to that while we're at it. I mean, everyone
knows
that puberty is no picnic. That's why I hear so many adults talk about how they wouldn't go back to middle school if they were given a million bucks. Thanks for the pep talk, guys. But I never thought that it would be
this
confusing. Having enemies like the Sneerers is hard enough, but what are you supposed to do when one of them suddenly sprouts a nice-girl attitude? Why are there no self-help books for almost teens? Or maybe there are, but they're totally cheesebally with lame titles about “our changing bodies.” Bleh.

2. Boys. Once again, I was fooled by every single teen movie I've ever seen. I thought when a boy liked you, he asked you out in some big romantic gesture and that was it. Off you go on dates, holding hands and stuff. Even Daz, who I
know
likes a girl, is pretty much doing diddly-squat about it! And what if you
think
a boy might like you, but he's sort of…weird about it like Kevin? And what about the boys you can't go out with because they're too old (hello, Logan). How can I have room in my brain for all of them, without going completely insane? (I might have just answered my own question, seeing how it's obvious sanity is not my strong suit here. Hrmph.)

3. Girls. Yeah, I know. Pretty much any living human is on this list now. But seriously.

4. Wet suits. Because let's face it. Being able to swim without getting cold? Awesome. But the way my butt looks in one? No thanks.

Greenland sharks have parasites that live in their eyes, which cause them to glow in the dark.

—Animal Wisdom

Despite the phrase, it is actually not possible to laugh one's butt off.

But if you'd told me that I would spend an entire three hours at the mall on a Saturday afternoon with my sworn enemy, that is probably what I would have done. Knowing my Anti-Ashley notebook was in my backpack made me walk a little taller, like if it all went horribly, I could call it an experiment, you know? But it didn't stop the gnawing feeling of something eating away at my insides. Maybe I had a tapeworm on top of everything else.

Not only was I volunteering to actually spend time with Ashley, I was shopping for the
least
fun thing to shop for on the face of the planet.

One word: swimwear.

Welcome to the swimsuit store, where every girl's dreams of looking like a supermodel are replaced with a fluorescent-light reality of your own butt getting the biggest wedgie because we
can
send a man to the moon, but nobody can make a suit that doesn't ride up.

Well, not every girl I guess. Ashley doesn't seem to be scared at all.

“Tell me you threw that old blue thing out,” Ashley said as I found her in the food court. A crumpled burrito wrapper was on the table in front of her. “Did you eat yet? You want something?”

“No thanks,” I said. I think it was the first time I'd seen Ashley eat something that wasn't salad. “And no, I didn't throw it out. I can't until I have a replacement.”

She shook her head. “That's no way to live,
Ana
. You'll never throw it out if you have it to fall back on.”

Now I was getting life advice.

“Okay, let's do this.” She slid out from the booth. “Remind me I want a new skirt too. Once we get your suit situation figured out.” She began sauntering away from the table.

“What? We're not going to Clark's?” I pointed to the right. “Clark's is where I've been getting my suits since forever. I know what they have there,” I said.

She lifted her chin. “This is exactly why we are
not
going to Clark's. We're going to Aviana's Bikini Hut,” she said matter-of-factly. She grabbed my arm and began dragging me.

I yanked away from her. “I am not getting a bikini!” I said.
Not
everyone
looks
like
a
model, you know,
I thought bitterly.

She gave me a disgusted look. “They sell more than bikinis, freak. Just
trust
me!”

Oh, sure. Trust the girl who would probably tattoo my face with a gigantic “LOSER” sign if she had the chance. What was I
doing
here?

When we stepped into Aviana's, my eyes practically popped out of my head. “There are
so
many swimsuits here! And all of them are
all
about
the
boobs
!” I pointed to a string bikini on display. “This mannequin is probably embarrassed right now. Plus, it's freezing in here.” I adjusted the top of the bikini for her, trying to cover her more.

“Oh my God.” Ashley slapped my hand away. “Leave the mannequins alone!” she hissed, darting a look around us and smiling apologetically to the lady behind the counter.

“Did you girls need any help?” She sauntered over to us, looking Ashley up and down. Her eyes slid over to me. “Perhaps something for a pool party?” Steel drums and Caribbean style music jangled in the background.

Ashley shook her head. “No, thanks. We're just looking. I'll call you if we need any help.” I stared as the lady nodded and went back to her perch by the cash. Normally when salespeople come up to me in stores, I always feel like I need to humor them, so I don't offend anyone. Then they pester me for ages thinking I want their help. Ashley had dismissed this girl like it was no big deal.

“I'm thinking you need something brighter. That dark suit doesn't do you any favors,” she said. The hangers clattered on the racks as Ashley dug behind a mannequin and pulled out a hot pink one piece with beading on the chest.

“No way!” I said, backing away.

She narrowed her eyes. “Why? Because it's a girly color?” The swimsuit swayed on its hanger as she hooked it over her wrist.

“No,” I said. “When I wear pink, I look like I'm always blushing,” I said finally. I blush enough from actual embarrassment. I didn't need any extra help in that department.

She shook her head. “That's because you're wearing the wrong pink. You have a tan now, so this one will look good.” She threw it in her basket and kept walking, leaving me to follow behind her like a lost puppy.

She turned around suddenly, squinting as she leaned closer. “What?” I asked. I put my hand over my mouth. “Do I have food in my teeth or something?” I checked my shirt for rogue animal stains.

“I'm checking to see the color of your eyes, weirdo,” she said. “You should try one in this sea blue too.” She whipped around and found another suit in a different style, this time in a bright aquamarine blue. “The ruching will help you.” She nodded firmly.

“Ruching? What the heck is ruching?” I held up the suit, examining the scrunchy fabric.

“It's this stuff.” She touched the fabric that was bunched around the waist. “It helps disguise problem areas. But don't freak out. It's just a good idea to have on a swimsuit, especially if you're wearing a one piece.”

I was beginning to feel like one big problem area.

Following Ashley through the store, I stopped to watch her pick up a sheer orange wrap and hold it next to her hips. Scrunching her nose, she returned it to its spot.

Having never been in Aviana's before, I was starting to realize why I preferred department stores. Some of their stuff was nice, but between the glarey saleslady and the skimpy bikinis on the mannequins, I felt like my clothes were peeling away with each step, leaving me standing vulnerable and naked. I tugged at the bottom of my shirt anxiously.

“Ooh!” Ashley exclaimed. “Here we go! This is perfect. Try this one on.” She grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me to the dressing room, with a teal green swimsuit over her shoulder.

“What? Already? We just got here!” I cried. I would sell my firstborn to get out of this.

Ashley stood with her hand on her hip. She wasn't having any of it, I knew that much. “This isn't brain surgery,” she said. “You have to actually, you know,
try
them
on
.”

“What if it doesn't fit?” I asked, biting my nails.

“Then we get another size, duh,” she said, slapping my hand down.

I stepped inside the fitting room and closed the door, while Ashley flung the suits over the top. “Don't forget the squat test,” she yelled.

“The what?” I felt like I was stuck in a test tube. Any minute now the scientists would be here with their goggles to measure how much of a fool I was in here.

“The squat test.” Her foot tapped outside the door, with her shoes clicking against the cold floor. “Life is all about the squat test, Ana. You can't expect everything to magically
fit
. You have to try stuff on, and squat, and bend over, and wave your arms and make sure nothing looks weird.”

I frowned at the pile of suits hanging in front of me. I guess it made sense. Usually when something didn't fit me, I got annoyed and felt like a weirdly shaped android. But technically, I did the squat test with all sorts of things in my life, so why not clothes? I read the first few pages of a book before deciding if I wanted to buy it. I nibbled on a slice of pizza to see if I liked it.

I took a deep breath and yanked off my shorts and T-shirt. The lights in the fitting room were bright, so I flinched at the off-green zombie that stared back at me. Is that really how my knees look?

Just
try
on
the
suit, Ana. It's a swimsuit. It cannot hurt you.

I stepped into the pink suit and pulled it up over my underwear. Honestly, is there anything
less
attractive than wearing a bathing suit WITH your underwear? I know they have that rule so people don't dirty the suits, but why can't somehow invent a way to make this process a little less mortifying? Sliding the straps over my shoulders, I did a test squat. The antitheft knobbie-thing was digging into my collarbone. I waved my arms and even did a little boogie, shaking my butt around.

Hmm.

“You okay in there?” Ashley's voice rang in from outside the door. “Does it fit?”

“I don't know,” I said. “The top feels a little weird.” I slumped against the wall, hugging my shoulders. The sinking feeling in my chest got worse as Ashley knocked on the door again. This was a stupid idea.

“Well, open up. I'll see what's wrong with it,” she said.

At that moment, an alarm went off in my head.
This
would be a perfect opportunity for her to get me good. All it would take is one picture of me in this awful pink eyesore and she could ruin my life.

I hesitated, with my hand stuck in midair by the lock.

“Well?”

I didn't know what to do. My heart was racing, sending a flurry of confusion through me. Being my brave self was so much easier without swimsuits.

Okay.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. I braced for the worst.

But it was only Ashley.

No camera. No phone. No anything. She had another pile of suits in her basket.

“Hmm, I see what you mean.” She reached up and adjusted the strap, giving it a tug. “It's too tight. It's because you're taller than it's made for,” she said. She pursed her glossy lips. “I think we should get it in a size up. It's a bit snug on the chest anyway, so it will probably work.”

She disappeared back into the racks before I could argue.

“Here, try this one. They didn't have pink, but that nice blue you like was in.” She handed me the blue suit in a different size.

I clenched my teeth as I tried it on. I wanted to go home, but I was also curious if Ashley's method was going to work. Beads of sweat began to collect on my forehead. Pulling the straps over my shoulders, I squeezed my eyes shut.

It's just a swimsuit.

“Knock, knock,” Ashley said. “That must be better.”

I opened the door again.

“Oh. My.
God
,” Ashley said. I winced, but she was beaming. “Do a turn! It fits so well! I
told
you
blue was your color! And look how well it fits!” She yanked me from the fitting room to the gigantic mirror at the end of the hallway. I hunched over, trying to hide myself and avoid the prying eyes of other shoppers, but nobody seemed to notice. The floor was cold under my bare feet.

“You like it?” I asked hesitantly. With the three-way mirror in front of me, it was hard not to stare at myself. To pick out every flaw. My weird-looking knees. The uneven tan on my arms. My lack of a butt. But somehow, this suit made them a little harder to spot. The blue made my eyes stand out, and somehow it contrasted with my hair to make it look extra shiny. I looked like
me
, but now I was a shiny, better version. Maybe even a
kissable
version?

“Like it?” Ashley gaped at me. “You're buying it. I don't care if you have to sell a kidney or a snake or get your rich grandpa to send you a check. You're buying that.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

I felt the corners of my mouth turn up.

“I probably wouldn't have tried it on,” I admitted. “I mean, after the first one didn't fit.”

Ashley waved her hand dismissively. “Just remember, if something doesn't fit, that's the
clothes'
fault. Not yours. Keep trying things on until you find something that looks like it was made for you. Everything in your closet should make you feel good.”

“I never really thought about it,” I said. Something was swirling in my stomach, but I couldn't pinpoint the feeling. “Spending so much time trying to look good…” I trailed off.

“What? You think it's shallow to want to look good?” Her eyes hardened.

“No!” I exclaimed, suddenly freaked out. “Well. I don't know. I always sort of figured you looked great in everything and were trying to rub it in.” I could feel the heat crawl up my neck. “You know?”

She scoffed. “Please. You're dead wrong on that one. You should see me in lavender. I look like a zombie.”

Ashley breezed past me, grabbing a pair of short shorts from the rack. “I'm going to try these on,” she said. “I got some shirts too, so wander around and see if there's anything else you like.” She stepped into the fitting room beside mine while I ducked back into mine to change.

As I stepped back into my comfy shorts and shirt, it occurred to me that this little shopping trip with Ashley was a sort of squat test of its own. And so far, I was eerily surprised by how it was turning out. I mean, she was
trying
to help, wasn't she?

Who knew that if clothes didn't fit you, it
wasn't
because you were some sort of freak? And could anyone have guessed that underneath that sneery, snarky exterior, Ashley was an actual person?

“So what's going on with you and that geek guy?” she yelled from her fitting room. “Is that officially a thing yet or what?”

“Who? Kevin? You know who he is?” I stuck my tongue out at her door. “We've gone to school together forever.” I fiddled with the antitheft tag on my swimsuit and hung the rejects on the rack outside the room.

“Blah, blah. Spill it,” she said. I could tell she was smiling inside the room.